Page 91 of Riff

They were covered in green and tan flannel.

Which could only mean one person.

Jack.

The owner of the motel.

“Let me go!” I roared. “Someone has my girl in that van.”

At that, Jack immediately released me.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get up,” he said, but I wasn’t really paying attention.

Vienna was still in that van with at least one other man, the whole fucking vehicle rocking with their movements.

My stomach sloshed as awful images conjured up and flashed across my mind.

They didn’t have long to take root, though, as I rounded the other side of the van, grabbed the handle and slid the door open.

The inside of the van flooded with light.

I seemed to see it all at once.

The dirty mattress on the floor.

The man holding his nose as blood seeped through his fingers.

And Vienna.

Vienna.

Looking like some fucking warrior woman, brandishing a wrench that was drenched in blood, as was her hand from holding it.

Her eyes were unfocused, trying to adjust to the brightness of the outdoors after the dark of the van.

I could see it when she saw it was me.

Her shoulders went slack.

Her face softened.

Relief.

Pure and utter relief.

I reached for her, lifting her out of the van, thanking whatever god was listening for the fact that she was, as far as I could tell, uninjured, still fully clothed.

I set her down on her feet, drinking her in for just a second.

Then I heard the howling sounds of the man in the van. The man responsible for all of Vienna’s fears, her trauma.

I hated to leave her.

But this needed to end.

So I jumped into the van and slammed the door closed.

She didn’t need to see this.

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